Supermarket Flowers
by elanev91
Summary: James' parents have died and he has no idea how to handle it.


**Another day, another Ed Sheeran inspired fic. It's depressing (though, if you've been listening to Divide on repeat like I have, you already knew that).**

 **I know James' parents didn't die until after he got married, but we're going with this anyway because I'm a monster. April Fools?**

 **No… no, I'm actually a monster. Sorry xx**

* * *

He found out in a letter. A fucking letter.

They're sitting at breakfast, the four of them that, recently, has grown to six, and he's sure they're laughing about something, but he can't remember what it might have been now. It seems weird, wrong, to think that they were having fun then, that they hadn't known the second it happened. That it hadn't struck him in the chest or resonated through the entire fucking universe.

Instead it happened in silence. Nobody knew exactly when.

The letter dropped onto his plate and he almost stuffed it inside his robes to read later, and then he saw the seal and his blood ran cold. Sirius, sitting next to him, had frozen, their eyes met. James slit the seal. _We deeply regret to be writing to you in these circumstances…. I am sorry to say that your parents, Euphemia and Fleamont Potter, both passed late last night…. Our sincerest condolences…._

It feels like time stops.

Like his brain is washed over with numbing potion, hooked up to the wrong wireless station, like he's slipped out of reality and into something else entirely, something horrible, something uncertain and terrifying. He sets the letter down in the centre of his plate. His hands fall into his lap.

Sirius is trembling beside him, his hands shaking so much that they're barely able to grasp James' jumper as he pulls him to his feet, over the bench, out of the Great Hall, to Dumbledore's office.

They walk up. McGonagall is there, and he thinks briefly that she looks surprised to see them. Sirius explains, his voice quaking all the time, and James moves instinctively, places a hand on Sirius' shoulder, grips it like it's the only thing tethering him to the fucking ground. It seems to steady him. It steadies them both.

He vaguely registers the fact that McGonagall is looking stiffer than usual, that she's hissing to Dumbledore under her breath about "How _dare_ they inform our students of something like this via owl post?" but he's not sure if he's genuinely hearing anything. If he is, he isn't taking it in. He's just standing there, limbs stiff, hand clamped on Sirius' shoulder, feeling his arm vibrate because Sirius' hands can't stop shaking, haven't stopped shaking since he dragged James from the table.

They're gone for five days.

He can't remember any of it. But he also can't forget it. It's just details. Bits of memory that don't amount to anything.

Sirius, a mass of pure nervous energy, flitting around the house, now _their_ house. Sirius trying to convince him to leave bed. Wrenching the near empty bottle of firewhiskey from his hands. Dragging him out by the waistband of his tracksuit bottoms. Stacking all their parents' things in the garden. Making tea. James' untouched mugs lining up on the table in the sitting room. Finding Sirius sobbing in the kitchen. Swearing never to leave him alone again.

When they get back, neither of them wants to be alone. They don't want to be around the others either, so they troop down to the Head's dorm in silence, walk into James' room. Sirius collapses immediately onto James' bed, James slides his feet numbly out of his trainers, kicks them over by the door. There's a stack of parchment on the end of his bed, and he hopes to fucking Merlin it isn't some work he has to do because he cannot focus on anything at all right now, and as he goes to toss it onto his desk, he sees the small note taped to the top. _I took extra detailed notes this week. If you need to talk, I'm here for you. xx Lily_

He sets the stack on his desk and climbs in bed next to Sirius. They don't have the energy to talk, neither of them can cry anymore, they still can't entirely believe that it happened, that this is all real, and they're asleep before they have to think about it too much.

When they emerge from James' room a few days later, they find out that Lily made a stack for Sirius too.

They go through the motions.

They attend classes. Go to quidditch practice. James does rounds. Fills out prefect schedules. They try to laugh. It's not quite the same, but it's close enough for most.

Sirius is a kettle on constant scream. Remus is the only one that keeps him grounded.

James stops sleeping. Stops fidgeting. Barely eats.

James knows they're watching him. That Remus, Peter, Lily, Marlene are noticing everything he's trying so desperately to hide. He isn't ready to talk, he isn't ready, not for any of it, he can't _feel_ it anymore, it's too much, and so he shoots Remus a look, a pleading look that Remus has never, ever seen in his eyes. They stop. At least, they stop being so obvious.

There's a week, he can't remember exactly when but he knows it isn't long after they came back, when he's just. Angry. All the time. At everyone. For no reason.

It's both good and bad that it coincides with the match against Ravenclaw. Good because he finally gets a release, _something_ to channel all of this into. Bad, very bad, because he sends Waters to the hospital wing ten minutes into the match and nearly sends Davies twenty minutes later. Hooch threatens to "end your season if you don't learn to control yourself, Potter!" and he reigns it in just enough, channels it. His rage boils his blood, bubbling just underneath the surface of his skin, supercharging his muscles - he runs himself into the ground that match. He plays like he's got nothing to lose.

Lily finds him afterwards, kicks everyone out of the changing rooms (oddly, no one seems to mind but Sirius who can't get James to stop kicking the benches anyway because even though they won he's still _so angry_ ), grabs him just before he strips down for the shower. "James, _please_ talk to me about - "

He yells at her. He's a dick. Tells her to "bugger off already, I'm _fine_. Why is everyone looking at me like I'm made of fucking glass?!"

He feels bad about it the minute she leaves.

He punches the wall of the shower.

It hurts, fucking hurts, he's pretty sure he's broken a finger, but at least he felt _something_.

Eventually he starts building a wall.

It's a wall between him and the rest of the universe, between James now and James then, between life with his parents and life without them. He builds a wall because it's the only thing he knows how to do, the only thing he can think to do, when he can barely get through a day without wanting to break down, when he's blinking back tears all the time, when his chest _hurts_ so fucking badly it feels like his ribs are splintering a millimetre at a time. He builds a wall because he can't feel it anymore. It's too much.

He goes through the motions.

He takes to the Astronomy Tower, to going there after rounds. He usually just tells Lily he forgot something, has to go back. Or he just leaves the dorm without saying anything. Hopes she doesn't notice.

He just needs the space.

He needs the space because sometimes, as he goes through the day, it starts to feel like the castle walls are pressing in on him, containing him and he feels trapped inside his own body as it is, like his own rib cage is collapsing bit by bit and crushing him from the inside, like he can't draw breath without forcing it into his lungs, like he can't even fucking _think_ because his brain is pounding all the time.

It's easier to breathe outside. To collect himself.

He's sitting there, back pressed against a column, staring up at the sky and _breathing_ , pulling in deep breaths of sharp, cold air. The sky is full of clouds, but coming up here always makes him feel better. Makes him remember their mum and dad lying out in the grass, pointing out the stars to him as a kid. Showing Sirius his star the night he moved in with them, the _last_ time that he couldn't stop shaking. He can't see them behind the clouds, but they're there. He's closer to them.

He sits there, eyes closed now, frozen air burning his lungs, hands trembling, just a bit, from the cold. His hands are probably blue, his feet are a bit numb, but he doesn't mind. He's used to the numbness now anyway.

He's sitting there when, quite suddenly, there's a warmth at his side. A light.

He opened his eyes - Lily's sitting there, studying him, a small, blue fire on the ground between them, the heat radiating just far enough to warm his hands. Lily smiled softly at him as soon as his eyes opened, "Hi." James leaned his head back against the column, closed his eyes again, "Hi."

He's not entirely surprised that she's found him, knows she either followed him or talked Remus into telling her where he is, but still. After the time in the changing rooms two weeks ago, he's surprised she still cares enough to seek him out. He was a complete fucking twat. Has continued to be a complete fucking twat. Though maybe this weird 'pretending to be happy James' is easier for her to deal with, he doesn't know -

"It's cold out here."

Her voice was quiet, so quiet that he could barely hear her over the soft crackling of the flames between them, the wind blowing through the trees in the forest, but even still he hears the concern there. He just shrugs, his eyes still closed, "I don't mind."

She was silent for a moment and he knows she's sitting there tracing her eyes over his face, reading him, and he's just about to open his eyes and ask her what she's doing there when she spoke again, "James, are you alright?"

He opened his eyes, turned his head, looked at her. Her brows were knit together in that _way_ that they get when she's concerned, the corners of her mouth turned down in a bit of a frown, and he can tell, just by looking at her that she already knows the answer to her question.

He could lie. But he doesn't want to. Not to her. Not anymore.

"No."

She reached out, grabbed his hand in both of hers. She moved so suddenly, he hadn't been expecting it, but the moment her fingers weave through his, her rings pressing almost painfully into his skin, it feels like something breaks in his chest, like the wall he'd built, brick by bloody brick, came crashing down, overwhelmed by the torrent flowing through him, unable to contain it.

There's a sound, a raw, strangled sound, and it apparently comes from him because his throat is burning and his eyes are hot with tears and he can't _breathe_ again, and then her arms were around his back and she crushed him to her, ran her fingers through his hair, whispered things he couldn't quite hear but sounded like, "I've got you."

His mind is racing, picture after picture of their parents hitting him, each one bringing with it a fresh wave of sobs, digging the pit in his stomach just a bit deeper - coming to their quidditch matches, making cocoa when he couldn't sleep, Dad winking at Mum when he thought they weren't looking, Mum's clear laugh and raised eyebrows that were so much like his own, Dad letting them, all of them, try firewhiskey for the first time just before third year and Mum nearly having a stroke. They look older now, now that he's looking back, older than he ever realised that they were in the moment. And, if he's honest with himself, he'd known this was probably coming soon anyway - Mum's sunken eyes, Dad's peaky complexion, their bodies just a bit stiffer, speech a bit slower… He knew it was coming, but even still -

He'd cried back at the house, had nearly shattered when he'd found Sirius, head in his hands at the kitchen table, body shaking with sobs, but this, this is different. It feels like he's drowning and coming up for air, like he'll never, ever be the same again and like the old James is finally moving back into view. It feels awful, gut-wrenchingly awful, but also _so good_ and he can't decide if he's happy about this or what he's supposed to be feeling, but it doesn't matter anyway because he can't stop crying long enough to think about anything else other than them.

"I'm not ready," the words fall out of him in a gasp before he realises they're coming, he buries his face in her neck, and he knows her skin is soaked through with tears, but she doesn't seem to mind. She just wrapped her arms more tightly around him, pressed him closer to her, began running her fingers through his hair, "I know, I know, James, I know."

He's babbling incoherently, just chopped up bits of words about how he didn't know, he wasn't prepared, he needed more time, and he knows she can't understand him, but it doesn't seem to bother her. She just held him, smoothed his hair, rubbed his back, whispered in his ear.

His wall, or what's left of it, crumbles a bit more every second he's in her arms, every time she reminds him she's there, moves her fingers through his hair. It just fucking crumbles, and it's terrifying and painful and sad, but it's also liberating, like finally finding sanctuary after a long, long time in the dark.

After a while, a long while, he took a deep breath, pulled back, let his arms fall back to his side. Lily smiled at him, softly, tenderly, reached up, wiped a few remaining tears off his cheeks. He breathed out a laugh, a small one, but real, finally real, "Thanks."

Lily pulled him back in for a hug and his breath caught in his chest again, "Of course, James."

She moved back, smiled at him again. She scooped up the little fire between them, and he thought she was going to get up and leave, but instead she set it down on her other side, pushed his hips, slid him over just far enough to have room to rest her head on the column next to him. She took his hand, and he turned to look at her, but she was looking out into the night.

"I've been worried about you," she said, glancing at him briefly before looking back out at the clouds.

"Here I thought I was doing a decent job of faking it," he tried to grin, to lighten the mood, but she just smiled sadly at him, "You can't fool _me_ , James. I know you too well."

The swooping feeling in his gut is entirely inappropriate, but the fact that it's there at all speaks volumes. He turned his eyes back out to the night, watching the tops of the trees blow in the wind - her eyes stay trained on the side of his face, moving in long, smooth lines over his features.

"You could have talked to me, you know."

James turned to look at her again. She isn't smiling, just looking at him earnestly, "I still have Mum, but I know _something_ of how this feels. I…" she hesitates for a moment, "I could have helped you through this."

 _Fucking hell._ He'd forgotten. He'd honestly fucking forgotten.

He flushed, "I…"

Lily smiled softly, squeezed his hand, "It's alright."

"No," James turned a bit on the column so he could face her, "it isn't. I - "

"James, really," she grabbed their hands in her other one again, "it was a long time ago. I just meant that I know a little bit of what you're going through. You should have _talked_ to me."

He was still too embarrassed to speak, so he just nodded. Lily sighed, clearly a bit exasperated, and scooted closer to him so their legs were touching, rested their joined hands on her thigh. "Stop. I know you're beating yourself up and just _stop_. It was last year. And anyway, I'm here for _you_ , not to make you feel guilty."

They sat there quietly for a moment before she spoke again, her voice quieter this time, "I just remember how much it helped to talk about my Dad. To remember the things we used to do together, talk about how…" she laughed a bit awkwardly, "Well, how fucking awful it was, honestly. I don't know," she turned her head to look at him and their eyes met, "it just helped."

James nodded, turned his eyes back towards the trees.

It seemed that she'd said her piece, because Lily didn't speak again. Just sat there, ran her thumb along his knuckles. It was soothing and her hands were warm and he liked it. A lot.

But he also suspected that she was right - that talking about it would help, might even help a lot. It's not that he doesn't want to talk about it, well, alright, it's that a little bit, it's that he doesn't know quite what to say. He tells her this and she smiles at him, "You just say whatever you think of first."

So he does.

He talked about everything he could remember, everything they'd ever done together as a family. Every time Dad had done something cheeky with him and Sirius, every time Mum had ever shouted all three of them out of the house. How, when he was three and a half, he'd made their poor cat inflate like a giant tabby balloon and Mum and Dad were torn between fixing the cat and screaming about how "JAMESIE DID HIS FIRST BIT OF MAGIC!" How, when they were sixteen, Dad damn near had to sit on Mum to keep her from apparating to the Black's and killing Walburga with her bare hands. How Dad had made them all cocoa (and slipped a shot or two of firewhiskey in for Sirius), talked with Sirius until morning.

He told her about how Mum had sent him a parcel of treats from home every month since he'd started school, added in things for Sirius, Remus, Peter, how every single one contained a small bottle of Sleekeazy's and the most hilariously passive aggressive note. How Dad used to leave little bits of potion ingredients all over the worktop in the kitchen and Mum would shout at him until his laughter filled the whole house. How Mum _always_ , always kissed them all goodnight, told them she loved them after she'd finished threatening to kill them, how she used to smile at Sirius and say, "James, I don't know why you can't have hair like Sirius, you would look so _handsome_."

"I just…" James wiped his eyes, "I just… I needed more time." Lily took her hand from his, wrapped it around his shoulders, pulled him closer, he rested his head on her shoulder, "You always need more time. It's _never_ enough."

He turned his head, pressed his nose into her neck, "What do I do?"

Lily moved her hand to his hair, brushed his hair lightly with her fingers, "You just…"

Her fingers trembled a bit against his scalp, she took a deep breath, "You just go on. You think of everything you can remember and you set it down in your mind so you never forget it. And you just… you keep on."

His voice cracked a bit when he spoke, "I don't know how."

She turned, pressed a kiss to the top of his head, "No one does. You just do it."

He wasn't sure how long they sat there, his nose in her neck, her cheek resting on the top of his head, but it's nice. They weren't talking, weren't moving - she just brushed her fingers lightly through the hair at the base of his neck, his head moving against her shoulder when it rose with her breathing. They weren't doing anything, but it felt like she was stitching him back together, like she'd taken his cracked chest in her hands and pressed the pieces back together, like she'd stopped his heart from bleeding out in his chest. It still hurt, but not as much.

She picked her head up and leaned over a bit so she could look at him, "Ready?"

James nodded, Lily stood, offered him her hand. He grasped it and she pulled him to standing before pulling out her wand and vanishing the little fire they'd left on the ground. James frowned, "I quite liked that little fire."

She smiled, took his hand again, "I'll make you another one when we get back to the dorms."

They walked back in silence, his hand wrapped firmly in hers. She wasn't looking at him, was just walking quietly beside him, occasionally raising her hand in greeting at some of the portraits on the walls that noticed them as they walked by. She wasn't looking at him, but he was looking at her, couldn't _stop_ looking at her.

She gave the password, they climbed through their portrait hole, and she let go of his hand, "Let me get a jar, hold on. I'll meet you in your room?"

James just nodded, smiled a small smile, "Alright."

She darted up the stairs to her room.

James sighed, fisted his hand in his hair, walked slowly up his own stairs, plopped down onto the end of his bed.

When she walked into his room a few minutes later, he noticed she'd changed into pyjamas. "Here," she held up a small jar that had one of the little fires in it, smiled as she set it onto his bedside table.

James smiled at it, Lily frowned at him. "You alright?"

James shrugged, "No. I feel better than I did, though."

Lily sat down next to him on the bed, took his hand again. She was doing that a lot tonight.

"Do you want me to stay?"

James turned at looked at her, studied her for just a moment. He didn't want to cross some kind of line, but he really didn't want to be alone, not yet, "Would you?"

She nodded, "I'll just nip to the loo so you can get changed?"

James nodded, and stripped off his school jumper as she walked out of the room.

When she came back in a few minutes later, James was standing awkwardly over by his desk, not quite sure what he was supposed to be doing. She smiled softly, took his hand, and climbed into bed, pulling James along behind her. She settled onto his pillow, her brilliant red hair fanning out underneath her and James looked at her for a moment, "Is it alright if - "

She chuckled quietly, wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him down onto bed, "It's fine, James." She left her arm behind him, moved her hand to his neck again, so he buried his nose in her hair.

"Thank you," he breathed, pulling back a bit and looking at her, "Thank you for… for everything."

She smiled, "It's nothing."

He shook his head, "It isn't, Lily. It's… I was… just… thank you."

She nodded in understanding, "Any time."

He moved his head back into the curve of her neck, let his arm move, tentatively, around her waist. He nuzzled in closer when Lily's free hand reached up to place her hand on top of his, let his eyes close.

It only takes him a few minutes to fall asleep.


End file.
